I only have one love now - the home furnishings business I'm building into an empire. Maybe money and success can't love me back, but they keep what's left of my heart safe. One-night stands are my way of scratching the occasional itch I get for something more. And no one's better for that than a sexy as sin hockey player I'll never see again after one very hot night together.  

He's known as Father Anton to his teammates - the brooding, sexy captain of the NHL's Chicago Blaze has a reputation for...not having a reputation. Just like his diet and sleep routines, celibacy is part of Anton Petrov's on-ice mojo. Or so they say. Anton stays mum on the subject. If the world thinks he chooses to abstain from sex, so be it. Better that than the truth getting out: There is a woman he burns for, but he can never have her. She's his teammate's wife, after all.

This team hates me. Something about my chronic case of resting prick face and that thing with the captain when the season started. My fist, his jaw. Coach says no more “confrontational BS” or I don’t play at all. And that’s a hit my career in the NHL can’t take. So I'll keep my head down and finish out my contract. There’s just one problem. Allie. The girl from Vancouver eight months ago with the sexy, shy, and sinfully bold smile. The girl who blew my mind and then blew out of my life without giving me her number. Turns out she’s the captain’s little sister.

He's a professional hockey player that lives on the edge. I prefer to play life by the rules. I'm the personal assistant at a sports agency that no one notices. I don't like sports, and I like professional athletes even less. I'm indifferent to the mostly male clientele, except for one. Mica "the savage" Petrov. When it comes to wild antics, Mica is the biggest offender of them all. He's reckless, wild, and carelessly charming. I'm mortified that I find him attractive. But it doesn't matter because the guy hasn't taken a second look at me. Not once. In two years.  

Heidi and I have been trading hungry looks all year, and everything she does makes me smile. But I don't do girlfriends, and I certainly can't get involved with the league commissioner's daughter. I need shots on goal, not a hookup and a widely misunderstood paparazzi photo. Can I resist her, though? The way she teases me should be a game penalty for interference with my libido.

They called me the pretty boy on and off the ice. Hockey’s most eligible bachelor. When my teammate asked me to donate one date to his charity, I figured why not. Worst case, I’d spend the night with a fan. Best-case scenario, she would be hot. What I wasn’t expecting was for my dream girl to be the highest bidder. For years, she brushed me off, and now, I finally had a chance to take her out and show her who I really was. With only one shot at this, I really hoped I didn’t mess it up. 

Let me list the reasons why dating the sexy, charming pro hockey star is a bad idea: He’s one of my closest friends. All our friends are friends. The wounds I’ve got from past relationships go deep. And so do his. We’re both devoutly single - it’s just safer for the heart that way. But there’s no reason not to bid on the gorgeous, clever athlete at the charity auction this weekend. If I win, it’ll be a "friendsdate". 

All my life I've said I will never date a hockey player. I know better because I've seen and lived it all. My father is a hockey god, my brother is the captain of the most successful NHL team in the world, and my brother-in-law also plays in the league. Their lives are complicated, so I went in the opposite direction. I fell in love with a scholar. But instead of proposing marriage, he broke up with me.

Being traded to Dallas was a dream come true. I had everything I wanted, my game had never been better, and my wife was due to have our baby any day now. What could go wrong? Everything. I was now raising our baby on my own. After hockey practice and games, I didn't have time to sleep, let alone make sure my social media was up to par. I never thought I'd get a second chance at love.

Sometimes lady luck shakes your hand, and sometimes she smacks your face. Sometimes she does both on the same day. Three years ago, I met the most amazing girl in the world. We were both down on our luck. Then I got that call - the one that tells you to get your buns on a plane to go meet your destiny. But the girl was left behind. I didn’t have her phone number, and she didn’t know my real name. While I became a professional hockey player, she became a superstar, with platinum records and legions of fans. And a slick music producer boyfriend who treated her badly.

Baseball is life - the rest is just details. Everyone who's played the game has heard those words a time or two. But Hancock has heard them his entire life from his parents. His family has lived and breathed baseball even before he started little league. Hancock "Parts" Peters has a name that inspires grins across many faces, but the moment those faces get their first look at him, those grins slide away. Hancock is gruff, filterless, and doesn't give a crap who he offends. He is the only man in baseball who doesn't care if he gets an endorsement or not. He's there to play the game.

Cammy’s my best friend - the one person I can’t live without, the girl with the sunshine smile, the loaded fridge, and the most awesome kid I’ve ever met. She’s also the hot AF single mom I’ve made it my mission to protect from guys like me. And I won’t risk ruining our friendship by pushing for something more. I’m not that guy. I’m the good time, the class clown, the hockey stud. I’m the happy-for-now, not the happily-ever-after. 

I’m at the height of my athletic career. Yet my arrogant brother is always trying to recruit me into the family business: a global security company so secretive that I don’t even know its name. Pass, thanks. I don’t need a summer job. But the jerk ambushes me with a damsel in distress. That damsel is Alex, the competitive, sassy girl I knew when we were kids. Now she’s a drop-dead gorgeous woman in deep trouble. So guess who’s on a flight to Hawaii?

If people have polar opposites, Luca Rossi is mine. His butt is in the baseball hall of fame. Mine's comfortably seated in the hall of lame. When he's not snagging fly balls out in center field, he's modeling in shampoo commercials. I once jammed my own finger while stirring cookie dough, and sometimes I forget shampoo is a thing. He's a total cynic when it comes to love. I make a living writing love stories. But after my latest broken engagement (no, I don't want to talk about how many times that's happened), it's clear he's exactly the man I need.

Call it superstition, but when a guy bats as hot as Brooks Elliott, you don’t mess with what’s working. And what’s working is him keeping his pants zipped and doing all of his scoring on the field. So when I hear he’s planning to ditch his V-card now that he’s been traded to baseball’s lovable losers - a.k.a. my home team and my reason for living every March through October - I do what any rational, dedicated, obsessed fan would do. I make a plan to stop him. But the thing about stopping him is that it requires spending time with him. Lots. And lots. And lots of time.